


lost your balance on a tightrope, lost your mind trying to get it back

by carter (TheIslandOfMisfitToys)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Grief/Mourning, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, So much angst I'm so sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-30
Updated: 2014-10-30
Packaged: 2018-02-23 07:17:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2539094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheIslandOfMisfitToys/pseuds/carter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He takes another swig of what could be vodka, but he stopped tasting anything about an hour ago. This has become a routine, worryingly enough. Since the incident with the Winter Soldier, anyhow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	lost your balance on a tightrope, lost your mind trying to get it back

**Author's Note:**

  * For [leafings personal (leafings)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leafings/gifts).



> for sarah - thanks for nothing

Nothing from Tony's extensive collection of alcohol does anything for him. Steve lies on his couch staring blankly at the ceiling, wishing and wishing and wishing he could just feel nothing for a while. He takes another swig of what could be vodka, but he stopped tasting anything about an hour ago. This has become a routine, worryingly enough. Since the incident with the Winter Soldier, anyhow.

As his mind wanders down that particular road he wonders, absently - if Bucky had fallen from that Helicarrier, would he have jumped after him?

He realises that he already knows the answer. Bucky did fall and Steve did not jump.

That's a dangerous train of thought to pursue so Steve slaps himself around the face, downs the rest of his drink and forces himself not to follow it. He bangs his head against the arm of the couch repeatedly and for a while he's too focused on the pain to think about anything else which, he thinks, is nice.

He needs to get up. He stands, slowly, and wanders over to the window of his apartment. There are people in the streets below and none of them are Bucky. Every day, the first thing Steve does is go to his bedroom window and look, hopingly foolishly that Bucky will be there waiting. See if he cares enough to find him. Heaven knows Steve has gone above and beyond in trying to find Bucky.

* * *

 

Moving away from the window, he reaches half-heartedly towards his record player and stops short. Every single record he owns reminds him of dancing in a small, Brooklyn apartment, too cramped to allow for any real dancing but big enough to sway and shuffle across the floor. He can vividly remember being small, strong arms keeping him close, following another's clumsy footsteps. He brushes angrily at the hot tears burning tracks down his cheeks. He brushes again. They keep coming. His legs crumple underneath him.

Who knows how long he stays on the floor, clutching his head, clawing at his scalp, taking shallow gasps of air that choke him. He can hear one line of a song looping through his head, Bucky's voice faintly singing along but when he tries to focus on that part, the _good_ part of memory all he hears is

_Who the hell is Bucky?_

You know me...

_No I don't!_

_SHUT UP!!!_

* * *

 

Steve falls back onto the floor, exhausted. The coughing sobs and violent shaking subside into something softer, but no less painful. He's been told time and time again by Sam that he has to stop beating himself up for everything that Bucky went through. He knows if he called Sam he'd be at Steve's apartment in less ten minutes and he could cry on his shoulder, because Sam is good to him. Sam has his own issues but always puts Steve's first if he needs to talk. Sam's too good to him.

Steve must fall asleep lying on the floor there. It's the kind of satisfying slumber only ever achieved by crying yourself to sleep and waking up feeling vaguely numb. He relishes the lack of feeling and stands up, stretching out the kinks in his back and neck from sleeping on the floor. He puts a record on. Allows himself to wallow in the good memories for a while. Makes coffee, reads the paper. Calls Nat.

"You got anything more on Buck- the Winter Soldier?"


End file.
